


and many more

by sgt_jerk



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, New Year's Eve, Party, Post-Inception, this is wicked tame for my 1st fic on this damn site but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgt_jerk/pseuds/sgt_jerk
Summary: Holidays are usually stressful for everyone. But Eames is bound and determined not to mess this one up for Arthur. One shot post-Inception.





	

Nobody was under the illusion that Arthur loved parties. But Eames loved Arthur, and that seemed to be enough to get him to leave the house regularly around the new year.

No one within their little group liked to talk about the previous new year, which had ended disastrously with Eames relocating back to Lagos in a huff because of who _knows_ what sort of drunken tiff. Ariadne had helped him haul an oversized suitcase to the curb while Yusuf had trailed behind them, calling a cab as quickly as he could. Cobb, bless him, had absconded to the kitchen to try and contain Arthur. It had been such a pain.

He hadn’t been able to get his credit card reopened for weeks.

The environment of celebration, of ritual excess, tended to disgust Arthur. Eames, of course, couldn’t get enough it. He knew he was a real sucker for the end of things, for the glitz of renewal. One could wash away the previous year with champagne, and that was a beautiful cultural tradition if there ever was one.

They had a trend of being together around the holidays, for better or for worse. This year was no exception, and it seemed that Ariadne’s move into a new, slightly less shabby one-bedroom apartment was cause for debauched celebration. She’d messaged him separately from the group invite: 

> _are you and your boyf gonna behave this year?_
> 
> _I have no idea what you mean, darling >:^)_
> 
> _plz plz PLZ don’t fuck this up for me. I know you 2 get into shit_
> 
> _when drunk but can we please all just chill for five seconds_
> 
> _Yes, well I always try to keep the peace_
> 
> _sounds fake_
> 
> _:( I do……_
> 
> _yeah right it’s totally not your fault that you just decided to drop the_
> 
> _whole open relationship bullshit on him at Cobb’s party_
> 
> _I’m rolling my eyes at this_
> 
> _whatevs it’s your fault then but if it’s your fault at my party you’re_
> 
> _legit never coming over again I’m gonna be so pissed at you_
> 
> _Christ……Fine I’ll do my best_
> 
> _you better!!!_

As much as he hated to admit it, there was more than a light hint of truth to her words. No amount of renewal and champagne could wash away his previous year’s fuck-up. In a wildly misguided attempt to classify what he and Arthur were, he’d failed to predict that the stoic man would interpret what he’d intended as a statement of his measured nonchalance as a direct hint to buzz off. He ceased thumbing through the button-downs in his closet to collapse, spread-eagled,  on the gently rumpled bed.

Picking his cell out from underneath one of a multitude of pillows, he flicked it open to the current argument he was having with his beau about whether or not Ariadne’s party qualified as a dress shirt and slacks event, or a dress shirt and jeans event. It was for Arthur’s benefit that he was even entertaining the debate, as he never could seem to plan outfits in advance. The night would speak to him as it arrived, he’d told him, when asked. Arthur had openly rolled his eyes at him over it; he didn’t expect him to understand. There was such an art to picking out a shade of lipstick to match the smell, the feel of a rising evening. It was a divination Arthur recognized, but couldn’t penetrate in any way. It gave Eames a warm and hidden pride to think about it, and kept the idea tucked away like a secret.

* * *

“E-Eames!” Yusuf’s bear hug hit him mid-hiccup. Not unpredictably, he was already halfway to being completely sauced.

“Yusuf, dearest, what time is it? Not even 9:30?” Eames propped him up, flashing a laughing grin. Yusuf smiled up at him toothily, bleary eyes crinkling, and he patted his shoulder with several gentle paps.

“Not late enough! S’not the New Year yet…” He trailed off with a soft burp. 

“Easy on then, alright?” Eames swiftly passed him off to Ariadne’s ex’s friend, who passed him off to someone else he hadn’t met to be escorted to the porch. 

As always, Arthur looked impossibly sleek. He’d clearly spent more time on his hair than usual, despite the fact that it was only a vague circle of friends present at the flat. Many of them had seen each other at their worst, which was perhaps why Arthur had taken such care arranging his tie on the walk over. He had made a beeline towards the kitchen, where Ariadne was counting out wine glasses. Eames held back for a measured pace or two, abandoning a unsatisfactorily entry-level conversation with Cobb in favor of some light eavesdropping.

Arthur’s voice drifted lightly through the kitchen entryway.

“Congrats, on everything.”

“Do you mean the house, or the degree, or on not seeing all your faces for a while?” She snickered, and Eames could hear her setting down a clean glass.

“The apartment looks great. I’m impressed, I can only barely count the Ikea on one hand.”

“Don’t be rude. It’s economical. And having a roommate helps.” She huffed a little, and Eames poked his head into the kitchen. She’d folded her arms and leaned against the counter. “Besides, my student loans haven’t kicked in yet. I had to get everything set up while I had the time.”

“ _ Very _ sensible of you.” Eames interjected, butting in to shoulder between the two and tucking the gift bottle of Prosecco into her arms. “This is for the degree, specifically. But congratulations on officially making it out of our admittedly terrible company.”

“Brick-and-mortar architecture doesn’t pay as well, but it’s a living, y’know?” She cracked a wry smile. “Not to mention it doesn’t encourage nightmares.” 

Unconsciously, Arthur wrinkled his nose. 

“Cognitive behavioral or psychotherapy?” His tone was acerbic, “Neither one seems to really do the trick for me.” Eames tried not to let his stomach sink, reeling in a sour expression.

“Let’s not and say we did have this conversation, shall we? Move out of the way darling, Arthur’s going to open the champagne for us.” Side-stepping Ariadne,  he pushed a bar towel and corkscrew into Arthur’s hands and steered Ariadne towards the living room. The turn in conversation had left a bad taste in his mouth, and he did his best to quell it. 

Arthur obligingly popped open the champagne over the kitchen doorway, eliciting a few drunken cheers. He glanced up, as if only just seeing the other guests in the room, and smiled. Arthur’s dimples even showed, and Eames felt the tension drain from between their bodies.

Eames felt a hand on his lower back, and looked up from the crowd to meet his gaze.

* * *

Three glasses of champagne did Arthur Cohen a great deal of good. He had an attractive blush running across his cheeks, which touched down to the middle of his nose and to his cupid’s bow. Eames usually wouldn’t write home about Arthur’s lips, but tonight they were parted and seemed more than inviting.

They sidled onto the metal balcony, Eames sliding over to straddle the railing, with Arthur leaning against the porch door. The glint in his eye wasn’t entirely welcoming.

“I didn’t appreciate your social engineering back there.” Arthur settled his weight back on his heels, more nonchalant than usual. Eames had matched him, drink for drink, and was sure that he had a matching blush.

“Sweetheart, you cannot pick a fight with the hostess two minutes into her own party, sober. It’s just… not how things work.” He tried not to notice how Arthur’s slicked hair was ruffling attractively in the wind.

“Can’t I?”

“I wouldn’t advise it.” Arthur sighed in response, fiddling in his inner jacket pocket for a cigarette.

Eames could sense the shaky territory here. The other man was almost never forthcoming with his emotions in any regard, and his outburst in the apartment seemed odd, at the very least.

He tested the waters. “We don’t have to dance around it, you know,” He flicked a lighter out and cupped his hand around Arthur’s cigarette, letting him take a long drag off of it.

“Around what? The fact that this…this work wrecks you?” He wagged the cigarette between his teeth for emphasis, a little ash blowing back into Eames’ face. “Everyone knows it. I’m not dancing around it like  it’s not built into inception.”

“That’s not the point. I never knew what you were thinking, how you felt about it-”

“I don’t need to spell it out every time! I would have thought that you’d’ve, I don’t know, have at least guessed that I’m not exactly ecstatic about our work.”

“I don’t want to have to guess at what you’re…” Eames trailed off, all of the past 2 hours’ liquor swimming in between his ears. He suddenly felt sloppy. 

“I just would like to be yours.” He sighed and felt his shoulders collapse in on themselves. “I wanna know you. And be close enough with you that I can watch you and support you, even when things are bad.”

Arthur grasped his left hand in both of his, setting his glass and cigarette down on the ledge, his stare boring a hole deep into him. “Then  _ be _ mine. Jesus, William, I want you.” He pressed Eames’ hand to his waist, leaning in towards the other man. “And fuck you for implying that you wanted anyone else but me.” Eames somehow managed a pout, even in his state of slight inebriation.

Eames pulled him flush to his chest, kissing him with an open mouth. He felt Arthur’s whole body shiver, and his lips parted for him, his tongue dipping into Eames’ mouth. His hands ran down Eames’ sides, and they parted. The space left where Arthur’s slender body had been was left warm.

He couldn’t stop looking into his eyes, and Eames couldn’t help but reach out to touch his jaw.

“Happy New Year, love.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm more than glad to be christening this page with Inception. thanks to my beau, for proofreading help!


End file.
